Passing the Light

“Bobeche” is a word I had never heard until I was a minister preparing for Christmas Eve services. In my day, we had candlelight services. There are all kinds of excellent reasons why many churches are abandoning that practice — fire hazard being one. Or, for me, the best reason is one of inclusion: A candlelight service is impossible for someone who relies on a portable oxygen tank to attend — for obvious reasons.

But, when I was a minister, I hadn’t thought of candle lighting from the point of view of inclusion, and our church did everything we could to prepare for fire safety. So, we darkened the church, then, starting with just a couple of candles, we passed light from person to person. Of course, that meant everyone had to have a candle to start with. And every candle had to be ensconced in a protective holder — a bobeche — to catch the wax, lest it drip all over one’s lap while we sang “Silent Night” together. That’s how I learned what a bobeche is.

The things one learns when one needs to.

(Incidentally, “bobeche” is such an uncommon English word that Substack underlines it with a little red squiggle when I type it. Probably it needs a little accent over the “e” or something, but I have no idea how to adorn it with one.)

Slipping a few hundred candles into bobeches in advance of the two Christmas Eve services was one of the myriad details I had to cross of my list every Christmas. Often parishioners handled the task. Often my husband and son stepped up to assist.

Usually we used simple paper bobeches that had an opening through which you fit the candle. But one year we tried some plastic bobeches that formed a little globe around the candle. Our hope was they would be somewhat safer, keeping the live flame sequestered within the globe, and more practical, because we could use them year after year. In the long run, however, they were messy, because they blackened with soot. Also, the little prongs that gripped the candles broke easily, providing an opening for a little torrent of wax to run out and drip all over your lovely Christmas clothing.

But we had them in stock during the Christmas season in 2012. I will never forget that Christmas season. How could anyone?

On the afternoon of December 14, 2012, I stopped in to visit a parishioner. I no longer remember the purpose of my visit. But I will never forget how our conversion started. “Did you hear about the school shooting in Connecticut” she asked? And that is when I learned about the horrific Sandy Hook shooting. I will spare you the details. You know them already. But, pause here to take a moment to remember those little children and their teachers and other school staff who died and the ones who surely still remain traumatized to this day.

Actually, even I remain traumatized to this day, and I wasn’t even there. Probably you do, too.

Several days after the Sandy Hook shooting, someone in town organized a silent candlelight vigil on the town common. Was it our church? Maybe. Our church frequently organizes things like that. But so do other groups. I know longer remember the details, except for this: I attended, bringing with me a basket full of candles ensconced in those plastic bobeches. We handed out candles and lit them, one person leaning in to the next to share the light.

It was terribly cold that night, and the wind was howling. Even with our candles shielded by the bobeches, they kept flickering and going out. But not every candle died and not all at once. There always remained enough candles burning so that we could continue to share the light, again and again, around the circle as we stamped our feet to stay warm and as we shared moments in silent prayer and reflection.

People, our lights do not all go out simultaneously, all at once. And, the truth is, we are continually lighting and relighting one another’s candles when our lights flicker and die. It takes a cold, dark, windy night to really notice that happening. But, trust me, it is happening all the time. We encourage one another. We comfort one another. We step in for one another when times are tough. We help each other to carry on when carrying on feels simply impossible. We do this for one another again and again, all the way through life.

I know many of us are anticipating howling winds ahead, times when our candles may blow out quickly and even without warning. Just remember, we are not alone. There are other candles in our circle. We will lean in and rekindle one another’s flames. It has always been that way. And it will continue to be that way going forward. We will share the light.

Love,

Sylvia